


So this is how it goes

by Whilenotwriting



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Intermittent knitting, Life with Miss Fisher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7496061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whilenotwriting/pseuds/Whilenotwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dot starts to work for Miss Fisher. Things happen.<br/>Dot-sentric drabbles.</p><p>SmitCoin Chronicles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the SmitCoin challenge
> 
> Thanks to Afterdinnerminx for looking through my English!

So this is how it goes.  
So, this was how it ended, she thought as she was led towards the waiting police car between two constables. Freedom. Independence. A life of her own. She was glad her mother couldn’t see her. She should stay clear of men, her mother had said. Nothing but grief would come from encouraging them. But murder charges after dropping that serviette still felt a bit extreme. They would realize she hadn’t done it? Wouldn’t they? They didn’t really hang innocent people? There would be justice. There had to be. There just had to be.

So, this was how it began, she thought as she stepped out into the sunlight when she was let go. Freedom. The future was wide open and she had nowhere to go. No plans. No job. No home. Nothing but a calling card in her pocket and a promise of a clever woman. She didn’t know exactly _what_ a clever woman could do, but she had no other option than finding out.  
\---  
Clever women obviously slept late.  
And, kept their clothes in interesting places.  
And, probably didn’t always tell the truth. (She’d never been much for dancing herself, and she guessed it could knock vases over, but she was less sure about the rest of the clutter.)  
Could Miss Fisher be a loose woman? She hoped not. She wasn’t exactly sure how fornication happened, but what Mr. Andrews had suggested would not have resulted in stockings in the chandelier. Or, so she believed.  
\---  
Miss Fisher obviously needed a maid. (Loose woman or not). And Dot was good. One learned what one needed, didn’t one? Rinsing blood from cloth was a skill she’d learned early (although the clothes that needed that kind of care in her home had never been of this quality). Mending silk stockings was a skill she learned when she entered service. She wondered what she’d learn from serving Miss Fisher. If her reading material was anything to go by it would be interesting. But, she would learn. She was good at learning. And, she prayed it would not involve electricity.  
\---  
She wondered that night if this was how life with Miss Fisher would be. Infiltration. Lying. Getting men arrested. It was better than the telephone, but only slightly. She wondered if Miss Fisher would lend her some money for wool. She’d have to have some knitting. It was calming, knitting. She suspected she would need it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dot attempts to knit, life interferes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CollingwoodGirl and jasbo for helping a Norwegian mutilate the English language as little as possible. 
> 
> My SmitCoin contribution S1E2

“I didn’t invite you along to be useful, Dot! I invited you along so we could have some fun!” Miss Fisher threatened. Oh, Dot was sure she meant it well. But as far as Dot’s experience with Miss Fisher went, “fun” to her meant danger, alcohol, or men (or, even better, all three together), and Dot failed to see the charm of any of those.

“I’ll do my best then,” she said, with what she hoped (but did not believe) was a sincere smile and prayed quietly for an uneventful journey. She had never travelled much. Not by train and certainly not by car. The trip did sound good. She had brought her knitting and knew that Miss Fisher had brought a book.  
Her prayers were not answered.

  
\----

  
It was wrong to be happy about a murder. It was terribly, terribly wrong. And yet. The constable was here now. The handsome one. Collins. With the broad shoulders and kind eyes. And she was happy. She wondered what his first name could be, and how she might find out. She couldn’t ask Miss Fisher. Not about this. No, definitely not about this.

He _was_ kind too, not just good looking. She knew, from when she’d been taken in for questioning. It had been terrifying, of course. But he’d been there with her, and he’d brought her tea, and although he couldn’t say so, he’d made her trust they’d believe her and get her out of there. And they had.

It was a tragedy for Miss Henderson to have lost her mother. It truly was. Her mother was dead, and she was alone and Dot _really_ shouldn’t be happy. But she was. He was here. (And the way he had looked at her in the corridor?) Oh dear. She probably should not think about it. _Right_. She turned her knitting around and started a new row. Or maybe she should think about it. It would make her next confession easier than the last one.

The last one had been _interesting_. More so for Father Grogan than for her, though. She didn’t doubt his sincere care for her soul, but she was not certain her salvation depended on the priest needing all the details about Miss Fisher’s lifestyle. Well, if he wanted a break from all the affairs and sibling rivalry and whatever one coveted of one’s neighbor, she couldn’t really blame him, could she? But she also didn’t want to risk being forbidden to work for Miss Fisher. For the future she’d have to be smarter. She couldn’t lie to a priest of course. Heaven forbid. (Heaven probably had forbidden, when she thought about it.) But God knew it all already, so withholding a few details from his local representative wasn’t strictly lying, was it?

Was she planning to sin? Miss Fisher had asked her to bend the Commandments, and she hadn’t protested. It was odd. All that time with the Andrews, serving people who had turned out to commit all manner of evil, and the only thing she’d had to confess was her resentment of the cook. Now she had saved lives, but her list of sins had never been longer. It made you think, really, about the nature of good and evil and mercy and sin. Life with Miss Fisher just seems to have more of everything. She turned her knitting and was ready to start a row of purling when she heard Miss Phryne.

“Dot! The Hispano-Suiza is here! And she is a beauty!” No more knitting, then. Perhaps in the car.


End file.
